


The Kind of Things That Money Just Can't Buy

by knew_her_when



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1541510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knew_her_when/pseuds/knew_her_when
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>15 things Paul buys for James’ house</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kind of Things That Money Just Can't Buy

**Author's Note:**

> Set roughly two years ago.
> 
> Betaed by [withmarkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withmarkers/pseuds/withmarkers) but I changed a bit since she saw it, so any mistakes you see are mine and mine alone; please feel free to point them out.
> 
> In that vein, I welcome all comments -- constructive criticism included.
> 
> This is a completely fictional story that uses the names and likenesses of actual people. I am making no claim that any of this is true. For your sanity and mine, turn back now if you know these people in real life.
> 
> Title from the Beatles, of course.

**(1)**

The first thing Paul buys for James’ new house is a fake ficus. 

(Okay, _technically_ , the first thing Paul had bought and brought over was a case of Newcastle as a “housewarming present.” James was supposed to have people over for an actual party but hadn’t gotten around to telling or texting any of the other guys, so the two of them had crushed half the case before falling asleep on James’ floor, since there wasn’t any furniture. But that doesn’t count.)

The first thing Paul buys for James to _keep_ in his house is the plant. Paul hadn’t set out with a mission; it hadn’t been a conscious decision to buy something for James. He finds it on sale at Bed, Bath and Beyond in the “beyond” section when looking for a new ergonomic snow shovel (best to buy one _before_ the first snowfall). 

The ficus is huge and ridiculous and it makes Paul think of James. (In the interest of full disclosure: Most things do.) (In the interest of the fullest disclosure: that is the reason that James even has a house for which Paul can buy things; all of Paul’s complicated emotions that culminated in asking James to move out can be summed up in one _un_ complicated sentence, voiced to Leah countless times over the phone: There’s only so much sleep-rumpled-in-the-morning James Neal a guy can see before snapping.)

The point is, Paul thinks of James, so he buys it.

Before he drives home, he texts James, _Prop open your front door, I’ll be over in fifteen minutes_. He knows James is home, knows he will do what Paul asks without question. Sure enough, twenty seconds later, he just gets _k_ in response. 

He parks in front of his own house and takes the ficus out of the bed of his truck. The plant is in a pale red ceramic pot, and it’s large and heavy, fronds stretching at least four feet into the air. He hefts it in both hands and hauls it down the street.

James’ front door is, indeed, wide open, but when Paul walks into the entryway, James is nowhere in sight.

“Hey!” he shouts, voice strained with obvious effort. “Brought you something!”

“What?!” James calls, his voice floating down the stairs.

“C’m’ere!” Paul shouts, even louder.

He hears the pounding of footsteps and then, “Ye – what. What is _that_?”

“A ficus.”

“A ficus? What’s a ficus?”

Paul shakes the plant so its leaves rustle. “This is.”

“You…brought me a ficus?”

“Yes.”

“Why? And put it down, it looks like a walking plant is talking to me, and I can’t see your face, and it’s kind of freaking me out.”

“I thought you needed something to…liven up the place,” Paul says, setting the ficus on the floor. “Not that this is live. It’s plastic.” He runs his hands over the leaves, as though to make a point. “I figured you’d forget to water a real one, plus I think they might need to be planted outside and it’s November in Pittsburgh, so.”

“Um. Thanks, Paulie,” James says. “I think.”

“It’ll look good in the living room,” Paul says. “Which, uh…which room is your living room again?”

“The bigger one,” James says decisively. “Where I’ve set up the TV. That’s where I’m gonna put the couch when it gets here. 

“The couch?” 

“Yeah. It’s supposed to arrive on Thursday.”

Paul is a little surprised. “You bought a couch? When?”

“Yeah, G and I went out on Saturday to look. And I picked one out pretty quick. You know how I feel about shopping.”

James hates it and will make an un-researched major purchase just to _stop_ shopping. Paul does know this, and that’s why Paul had thought maybe _he_ and James would go couch shopping together. He swallows around a sudden tightness in his throat. “Well, it’s about time you got furniture for this place. And it’ll look good there.”

He helps James take the plant into the living room and put it into the corner. He’s right, it turns out: It spruces up the room nicely, brings a little color, a little _life_.

**(2 & 3)**

A few days later, Paul carries over an iron in one hand, an ironing board tucked under the other arm. They’d been one section over from the cookware, where Paul had bought himself a new set of nice, copper-bottomed pots and pans. He’d picked up the iron and board on impulse, too; just like the ficus, Paul had thought of James, so he’d bought them. 

The door opens before he has a chance to knock.

“What’s _this_ now?” James asks in lieu of a real greeting.

“Well, this is an _iron_.” Paul says. “Surely you’ve seen one before.” He twists his hips so James can see the length of the ironing board and then bounces the box with the iron as one might a fussy baby one is holding. “You know, for ironing.” James is still staring at him blankly. “You know, for when things are wrinkled.” James doesn’t react. “You _do_ know that you aren’t supposed to wear your shirts like that right?”

James knows he’s being teased because when he says, “Fuck off, Paulie,” there’s no heat behind it. “I know what these things _are_ , you asshole, what I’m _asking_ is why you brought them over.”

“I figured you didn’t have them.”

“I don’t,” James says agreeably.

“Well…now you do.”

“Uh. Well. Thanks.”

“You can keep them in your linen closet.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure. That…makes sense. The linen closet that I definitely and absolutely have.”

“James, you have a linen closet. It’s the skinny closet, probably upstairs, where you keep all your extra towels and spare sheets.”

James hesitates. “Oh, yeah, for sure. The extra towels and spare sheets that I definitely and absolutely have.”

**(4 & 5)**

The next day, Paul brings over two packages of Queen-sized sheets and an armful of soft, fluffy towels in various shades of green.

**(6)**

Two days after that, Paul shows up with a package of the wrinkle-release balls you throw in the dryer.

**(7)**

The couch James picked out ( _with Geno_ , Paul’s mind unnecessarily and unhelpfully supplies every time he sees it) is large and comfortable, a soft grey L-shaped sectional. It fits perfectly in the room, the long part against the wall opposite the television and the shorter section in front of the window facing the front yard.

There’s still an empty space in the room, though; it doesn’t look quite…homey. Paul goes to Levin and orders James the matching armchair from the living room set, arranging delivery for an off day so he knows they’ll be free.

He shows up unannounced that afternoon, takeout bags in hand so James won’t want to leave for lunch, and focuses intently and innocently on his plate when the doorbell rings.

Paul hadn’t counted on James trying to send the delivery guy away, but he hears James do just that, so he leaves his plate on the coffee table (there’s a coffee table!) and goes to the door to tell James that there’s no mistake, that he arranged this as a surprise. James looks at Paul a few beats too long, as though he has something he wants to say, but he stays quiet, turns away and signs the paperwork (and the delivery guy’s hat).

“It’s the same as your couch,” Paul says later, after the deliveryman has placed the couch precisely where Paul had envisioned it. “From the same collection, I mean, you know…part of the set. So I knew it would be the same grey.”

“I didn’t even know my couch has a…a _set_ it fits in to.”

“I figured you needed something…there was that open space. And without shopping with you – ” ( _like Geno did_ , Paul mentally adds) “ – I wanted to make sure it would look good with the rest of your furniture, which is really, you know…only the couch. Plus you always like to lie down when you watch TV, and I figured… _other people_ would need somewhere to sit, too.”

James opens his mouth, looks purposeful and determined, like he had at the door, but then he just shrugs his shoulders and says, “You didn’t have to _buy me a chair_ , Paulie. I mean, thank you. But you…you really didn’t have to. You didn’t have to worry about having somewhere to sit when you’re over. You always. Well. That’s. You can…” He trails off awkwardly.

Paul sits; the plastic still wrapped around the cushion crinkles beneath him. “It’s nice,” he says.

“Says the man who _bought it_.”

“It _is_.”

“You’re…you know you are always welcome, Paulie. I mean, like…here at all. Here in general.” James shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Uh, I had a key made for you. If you, um. It makes sense for you to have one, I think. If you want it.”

They don’t spend a lot of time here at James’ place. Despite officially moving out, James is still over at Paul’s five out of seven mornings for breakfast and after nearly every home game when they’re too keyed up to be able to sleep but not in the mood to go out. Paul never asks James to leaves, as though he had drained his entire reserve of willpower just asking James to move out in the first place. And sometimes…sometimes when James gets up to go, Paul wants to stop him, once nearly asking where James was going, because he’d _forgotten_. 

James still has his key to Paul’s place, in fact, and he still uses it.

Paul’s usually only at James’ to pick him up for practice or a game or, lately, to bring over something for James’ house. Nevertheless, it _does_ make sense for Paul to have a key. There’s no reason James should be so hesitant. 

“Should have a spare for the inevitable occurrence of you locking yourself out.” He makes the joke to break the weird tension that’s been hovering between them through their conversation. Paul _hates_ the weird tension.

It doesn’t really work, but James gamely replies, “One time. I locked myself out _one time_.”

**(8)**

James has also, along the line, acquired a dining room table – a really nice one, too, probably expensive, possibly antique, solid and sturdy natural wood, with six matching chairs. It’s impressive. Paul hadn’t helped him make this purchase, either; James bought it with his mother.

His kitchen table, by contrast, is from IKEA, and James assembled it by himself, texting Paul a picture of the confused triangle-nosed cartoon guy with the caption _me rn_ but refusing Paul’s offer of assistance. One of the table’s legs is a little shorter than the rest somehow, so it’s a bit wobbly. 

Paul exchanges the tablecloth he bought for a smaller version. The dining room table really shouldn’t be covered.

One morning, James invites him over for breakfast before practice – “a change of scenery,” he says as an explanation – and when Paul lets himself in with his shiny new key (after politely knocking, of course), James shouts from upstairs that he’ll be down in a minute, could Paul get the coffee started maybe? Paul doesn’t mind, so he turns on the coffeemaker (it’s the same one he has at home). He has the tablecloth with him, to give to James that morning, so he might as well just take it out and throw it over the kitchen table. He folds the cardboard from the packaging and wedges it under the short leg to help steady it.

He’s happy he chose a cheerful-looking yellow; it really brightens up the whole room.  
When James comes into the room, he obviously sees it – how could he not? – but doesn’t comment. And he doesn’t notice – or doesn’t mention that he notices – that when he puts the mugs on the table, it no longer tips and threatens to send coffee sloshing over cup edges.

Paul takes the silence to mean that James is pleased.

**(9)**

Despite the growing number of pieces of furniture, James still has nothing on the walls, which Paul points out to him one afternoon while he waits for James to finish getting ready before they drive to the game. “You haven’t decorated at _all_.”

“I just moved in – ”

“Three months ago!”

“And we’re gone a lot.” James shrugs. “I’ll get around to it. Figure I’ll just frame a few of my jerseys or something.”

“James.”

“I’m kidding!”

Paul isn’t so sure.

The next day, Paul goes out and buys three paintings –a set, one whole picture interrupted by being on separate canvasses, a large square with two vertical rectangles to flank it. It’s a watercolor, an abstract landscape. Paul thinks it suits James’ taste and will look nice in the living room. It’s not like Paul is an expert or anything, but he thinks he has an eye for things that look good. 

“It’s pretty cool,” James says when Paul hauls it over the next day. “But why – ”

Paul shrugs. “Saw it at the Center for the Arts.” (He doesn’t mention that the specific reason he’d gone there was to check out the gift shop to look for art for James’ living room. But he goes to museums all the time – alone, even – so James doesn’t question it, doesn’t even flinch.) “It’s a local artist who does a lot of watercolor work. Thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” James says cautiously. “Are you…?” He stops, seems to collect himself. “Do you want to help me put it on the wall?”

James doesn’t have any tools, so Paul goes home to get what they need before coming right back over.

“You know,” James says conversationally when Paul’s helping him hang it, making sure it’s straight before James puts any (more) holes in his walls. “I never really _got_ levels until I saw one in real life.”

“James…”

“What?! I didn’t know there was a liquid involved! I just thought…oh, you know, what if you were holding it crooked? Like it was a ruler you held against a wall – well, what if you were holding it at an angle? How would it help? But I saw it, and I got it. I totally get it.”

“James…”

“Don’t, with the tone! You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not. Levels are very complicated.” Paul nods seriously.

“Paulie!”

“Look, James, lest you forget, I was there when you had the _every kiss begins with K_ revelation.”

“C’mon – ”

“ _And_ when you discovered that a compass doesn’t always point at the letter _N_.”

“What, I wasn’t in Scouts Canada growing up! I never went camping!”

“And remember when you noticed that the Milwaukee Brewers logo isn’t just a ball and glove, it’s an _M_ and a _B_?”

James’ face is doing something that very closely resembles a pout. “Who even cares about baseball? Besides, those are totally irrelevant to the workings of a level.”

“I’m just saying…sometimes you miss the obvious, Jamie.”

“Yeah.” James snorts and he has that look that’s been all-too-common lately, like he’s holding himself back. “Sometimes I miss what’s right in front of my face.” 

**(10)**

Paul buys James a salad spinner and has to explain what it’s used for.

James still looks confused. “Okay, but…I mean, I’ll just buy those bags of lettuce…you know, if I…buy lettuce at all.”

“James, those are such a waste of money,” Paul says. “Also, you definitely should be buying lettuce. And other vegetables. And free-range eggs, for that matter – ”

“I am _not_ having the free-range eggs discussion again,” James says, cutting him off. “You caused a scene in Giant Eagle, and I don’t want to be reminded of that.”

(For the record: It hadn’t been a _scene_.)

“Okay, forget the eggs. You _should_ still buy lettuce, though. Romaine. Don’t get iceberg; it has no nutritional value.”

“If you insist, Paulie,” James says. “I’ll buy Romaine and I’ll chop it up and put it in my salad spinner and I’ll spin and spin and spin.”

“I _do_ insist. Your fridge needs real food.”

“Beer and Gatorade are totally real foods, plus I have pickles _and_ mayonnaise.”

“Buy lettuce, James. And don’t let it rot in your fridge.”

A week later, James tells Paul that the spinner, with its string to pull, reminds him of the Battle Bots he had when he was younger, “so I don’t hate it or whatever.”

**(11 & 12 & 13)**

Since James is making strides in the kitchen (Paul doesn’t even mean that sarcastically), Paul buys James a wok and a waffle iron and a panini press. He knows James’ favorite foods are stir-fry, waffles and “fancy, toasty sandwiches.”

**(14)**

Paul buys James a Swiffer duster when he picks up the refills for his own.

“It really is better than just a rag or a traditional feather duster,” Paul says, opening the package to demonstrate. “All the dust gets trapped in the Swiffer, it’s not just getting pushed around.”

There’s nothing Paul hates more than dust; it serves no purpose whatsoever. He is fully aware that most dust is just skin cells flaking off, which is, to date, the most horrifying thing he has ever learned, up to and including James’ hair-washing practices and the fact that Sid at one point had a lucky _jock_.

“Are you doing an infomercial right now?” James asks.

“I’m just saying. It’s extremely helpful.”

“I have a cleaning lady.”

“I know. Sometimes things get dusty in between visits, though. And it’s therapeutic to clean.”

James looks at him as though he’s sprouted a second head. “It’s therapeutic to take naps or to play videogames or to call your sister and cry. It’s not therapeutic to _clean_.”

Paul ignores this and runs the Swiffer over the leaves of the ficus. He gets a bit distracted; it really is very relaxing. “See? Your cleaning service must not be dusting the plant.”

“Give it here, then,” James says, and Paul hands over the Swiffer.

James starts dusting rather…aggressively, is the best word to describe it.

“James? Are you…is something wrong?”

“No.” It’s unconvincing. James looks down at the trapped dirt. “That really is something, eh? Why would you ever use a traditional duster again?!” James looks at Paul with a ridiculously cheesy grin. “And now for the low, _low_ price of _twenty_ -nine _ninety_ ¬-five, you could own this modern marvel!”

Paul knows what James is doing, but he lets it happen; if whatever’s bugging James is big enough, Paul will find out eventually.

**(15)**

It doesn’t take long at all. Three nights later, an evening off after an optional-in-name-only skate, James comes over for dinner. He’s brought one of his now-infamous salads, always big enough for a family of six…or for two hockey players, same difference.

“It’s got beets and feta,” James says proudly.

“Thanks, Jamie,” Paul says. “Set that on the table. Dinner’ll be ready in a little bit, it’s in the oven still. Maybe twenty more minutes? Oh, hey, wait here, I’ve got something for you.”

When he comes back into the room, he presents it to James with a flourish, and James looks…conflicted. He opens and closes his mouth twice before nodding, like he’s steeled his nerves.

“I don’t want it,” James says, and Paul starts a little, vaguely stunned.

“Oh. I can…I can take it back, I’m sure.”

“It’s not that I don’t want _this_ …particular…thing.” James is eying it, a bit confused.

Paul probably shouldn’t have taken it out of the box; he’d just really wanted to try it out. “It’s an extender handle for the Swiffer duster I bought you.”

“Right. Of course it is. I mean…I’m sure this would come in handy for, uh, dusting…things beyond my immediate reach. But I mean I don’t want it because I don’t…want _anything_ that you’ve given me.”

“Oh. Well. I’ll…I can take it all back, then. Maybe even return some of the stuff. I keep all my receipts, so – ”

“I know you do,” James says, and it’s got a touch of affection in it, which Paul doesn’t understand. It hits him hard, James being _affectionate_ right now. “You keep them so you can compare them to your online account later. You found a discrepancy in what you were charged at the Bottleshop that one time. But that’s not the point.”

“The point is that you…don’t want the stuff I got you.”

“No. I don’t. Because I don’t – ” He blows out a breath through puffed cheeks. “I don’t need you to, like, take care of me, Paulie.”

“I’m not. That’s not. I know you can take care of yourself.”

James narrows his eyes. “Are you being sarcastic right now? I _can_. I can keep my house clean. I can find a chair for my living room. I can…pick out my own artwork. I can…I can _feed_ myself, I won’t blow up my _kitchen_ if I try to cook something. Yeah, I know I come over for breakfast a lot still, but that’s. I just…want to. I like spending mornings with you, that’s one thing I’ve…missed since you…since I moved out.” James sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, and when he doesn’t reach up again to put the standing tufts back in place, Paul knows James is truly frustrated. “You don’t need to treat me like a child – ”

“It’s not that. It’s not – ”

“You bought me towels, Paul. I know I need to have fucking towels. I’m not a _moron_.”

“I know you’re not,” Paul says. “I would never. I just. I wanted to – ”

“Why else would you buy me stuff like that? You either think I don’t _understand_ how to function as an adult or you just don’t want me around _so much_ that – oh.” James says. “Oh, I _do_ miss the point. It’s not about me taking care of myself. It’s about _you_ not taking care of me. You asked me to move out. So I did. And then you buy all these things so that...I understand. You didn’t have to, like, _buy_ me stuff so I have a whole house full of reasons to stay away.”

“It’s not so you stay _away_. I just…when…I don’t know, I guess I don’t like the thought of you living in an empty, echoing house – ”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Your house _literally_ echoes in the rooms without carpeting, James.”

“It does not.” (It really, actually does.) “But, if that’s the case, if you were worried about me living alone in an empty house, then maybe you should have just let me _stay_. Your house isn’t empty.” James makes pointed gestures to the room around them. “I wouldn’t have been alone.”

“James – ”

“But I meant what I said. I get it. You don’t want me around. And I keep…I really do miss everything, I keep coming over when you’re trying so hard for me not to. You should have just told me.”

“No, I wanted…I _do_ want you around. Have I ever made you feel like I don’t want you here? Because I do. I want you around _too much_ , so you had to move out.”

James is slowly shaking his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does though. You had to move out. For me…for us, it – ”

“Us?” James says. “Did I just hear you say ‘for us’ as though – ? There isn’t an _us_ , Paul.” Hearing it aloud strings a bit, but there’s something weighted in James’ silence and something complicated in the look in James’ eyes. “There isn’t, because if there was an _us_ , we would have had a conversation. We would have made a decision together about what is best, because that is what _us_ -es do.”

“James – ”

“There isn’t an _us_ , Paul, because you never asked me before deciding that there isn’t, that there couldn’t be.” James shakes his head again but his eyes are bright. “And you could have asked. You _should_ have asked. Because if you had asked, I would have said _yes_ , Paulie, oh my _God_.”

“You – ”

But James is on a roll: “You know why you should have just let me stay? Not because your house has _stuff_ , but because your house has _you_.

“You were always going to fail, Paulie. You were going to fail at making my house less empty, more mine, more _home_. Because if you want that place to feel like home for me…you would have to move in.”

Paul takes a deep breath. “I…I don’t know – ”

“This house – _your_ house…your house was _my_ home. And…and it _still_ feels more like home than my own place does. So I want…I want to live here again. I want to live with you again. I want to _be_ with you. You wanted me around too much? You…what, you were…protecting me from potential unwanted advances?”

Paul feels his ears get warm. “Something like that.”

“I can’t wait to tell people that _you’re_ actually the dumb one,” James says. “You’re probably the only person who knows us who thought any… _advances_ would have been unwanted.”

“James, think about where I was coming from – ”

“A place of dumbness, apparently.”

“I just…thought I got everything I was gonna get from you. With you. Because…what would _you_ want with _me_?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not.” And Paul has never had self-esteem issues, but James is…he’s _James_ , with his face that looks like _that_ , with his brilliant grin and contagious laugh, with his hair and how he fusses with it, with his plaid suit jackets and his multiple purple dress shirts, with his goofy sense of humor and his unselfconsciousness…with his early-morning bleariness and glasses and throat-baring exaggerated yawns and sleep-flushed-pink cheeks and threadbare T-shirts and homing signal directly toward coffee…with his late-night full-length stretches on the couch and remote-hiding and soft, quiet smiles…honestly, what _would_ James want with him? “I – ”

“What _wouldn’t_ I want with you, is the actual question,” James says. “What _don’t_ I want with you?”

“James – ”

“And now since I’m aware you’re dumb, I know I have to tell you the answer. There is nothing I don’t want with you, Paulie. I want…I want fucking _everything_.” James is smiling like it’s helpless, and Paul is defenseless in the face of that and so Paul is grinning, too, and Paul _believes_ him. James huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes. “That, by the way, was your cue to kiss me,” he says. “Dummy.”

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Paul says, but he reaches out for James anyway, tugs him closer by his hips. James moves willingly and looks so… _happy_ that Paul just has to kiss him, doesn’t have a choice, even though he actually wasn’t going to, just to be difficult. 

James is the first to break away. He’s shaking his head as he pulls back. “Dummy,” he says again.

“You’re ruining the mood.”

“I just…I can’t…I just told a reporter you weren’t my girlfriend and _worried_ about it because I thought it was so obvious I meant I want you to be.”

“You want me to be your girlfriend?”

“You know what I mean. I told him you _weren’t_ which clearly meant you _should be_.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes more sense than ‘I want you to stay so much I’ll ask you to leave.’”

And that’s…okay, that’s totally valid. Paul lifts a shoulder, a half-shrug.

James kisses him, a soft peck that lingers. It’s better than the first one.

“So I’m gonna move back in,” James says when they part again.

It’s a pretty unnecessary statement, in Paul’s opinion.

“Okay,” he says. “I think you left some of your stuff in your old bedroom, so we’ll get you set right back up in there – ”

“Shut up,” James says.

Paul does. He has better things to do with his mouth anyway.

\--

**(+1 thing James buys for Paul’s house)**

Dinner burns. 

It takes them a long time to notice.

“Can’t wait to tell people you’re _also_ the one who almost destroyed the kitchen,” James says, flapping a dishtowel to help fan the smoke out through the open window.

“Shut up,” Paul says.

James does, but not before adding, “Thank God we have my salad. We’d starve without me, Paulie.”

The next day, James goes to the store and comes home with a fire extinguisher.


End file.
